


Even more

by pinkish



Series: Suspended in Desire [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Panty Kink, casturbation, flufffffff, fluffy fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 02:42:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1802401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkish/pseuds/pinkish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas's POV</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even more

It had been difficult concentrating entirely on the hunt, but not all of it was Castiel’s fault. Dean had been jumpy and unfocused the whole time. Castiel first noticed something strange when Dean didn’t make a snide comment about the futility of trying to plan their entrance into (or exit from) the shifter’s lair.

After Castiel outlined his plan, he looked up at Dean from where he was crouching on the ground, ready to deploy his squint-and-tilt in order to receive Dean’s patented grin in return, but Dean was not paying attention to him at all -- his eyes were focused just behind Castiel, as though he didn’t want to make eye contact.

In case he’d said something wrong, Castiel looked to Sam in order to determine if he’d made a mis-step, but Sam seemed just as confused. Sam coughed, though it appeared that it was not due to any physical discomfort. When Dean jolted out of his thoughts, Castiel realized that Sam had cleared his throat in order to attract Dean’s attention. Why he didn’t just say Dean’s name, Castiel didn’t quite know. While he was not the naive angel he was when he first met the Winchesters, the finer points of interpersonal etiquette still occasionally escaped him.

“Um. Sorry,” Dean’s face flushed and his eyes moved from Sam to Castiel to the ground and back to Sam, though Castiel doubted he registered any details unless his eyesight had significantly improved since Castiel last repaired him. “I was, uh, thinking.”

It was strange for Dean to be focussed on something other than the hunt. Castiel wondered if Dean had been injured and was hiding it in order to remain with them, but when he scrutinized the man, he saw no obvious signs of injury. Perhaps Dean was tired of hunting? But it had been his idea for the three of them to start up hunting monsters. He’d claimed it would be a nice vacation from demons, angels, leviathans, and “massive douchebags with god-complexes” (after which he’d grinned and said “No offense, Cas,” much to his own delight and Sam’s chagrin).

Castiel was about to ask Dean if everything was okay when Sam said, “Yeah. I can see that.”

Something in his tone caught Castiel’s attention. It wasn’t quite sarcasm, which generally had a harsher tone. The raised eyebrow indicated something. It indicated...

Castiel squinted harder -- however much he knew, logically, that moving his vessel didn’t actually affect his thoughts, it felt like it did, and he’d found that squinting in concentration was one of the more contagious human mannerisms.

It indicated skepticism? Concern?

“Let’s just get this over with, yeah?” Dean’s voice was rough, but not in anger. He was embarrassed -- at being caught daydreaming, perhaps.

If the lack of interest in their plan had been the only strange moment, Castiel might have let it go, but Dean continued to act out of character while they were trapping and killing the shapeshifter. He let Castiel take the lead, claiming that Castiel had a better mental map of the twisting and identical corridors. He tripped over a pile of scrap metal that Castiel had expected the hunter to have noticed and navigated.

“Dean,” Castiel whispered from their hiding spot as they waited for the shifter to show up, “is everything alright? You seem distracted.”

Dean stiffened, and though it was too dark to tell for sure, Castiel thought he saw Dean’s face redden.

“Yeah, Cas, I’m fine. I hate hiding. Just wanna gank this fucker and head home for a beer.”

Castiel knew this wasn’t the whole truth, and was about to say as much when they heard the footsteps of their prey, who was currently walking around in the body of a travel agent that they’d later find curled up in a cage in one of the adjoining corridors.

Dean let out a pleased grunt as he leaped out to attack the shapeshifter, ignoring Castiel’s plan entirely.

***

Dean was silent on the drive back, speaking only in response to Sam’s repeated requests that he drive a little bit slower (“Speed limits are for losers, Sammy.”), and Castiel wondered again if Dean was hiding an injury. He was hunched over and kept shifting around in his seat, but when Castiel asked if Dean had gotten hurt in the fight, Dean reached over and turned up the radio, silencing Castiel for the rest of the drive.

Castiel couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d done something wrong, and was contemplating what that might have been when he felt a sharp twist in his stomach as he realized what it was.

Dean must have seen. Somehow, Dean saw Castiel’s underwear and was angry about it. Or upset, or disappointed. Did he recognize them as the underwear from his drawer? Was he mad about the twin violations of snooping in Dean’s drawers and wearing the stolen underwear? Or was he mad that Castiel was violating the human custom of gendered clothing?

Castiel felt the knot in his stomach tighten further, and he worried at his cuticles and bit at his lips as he imagined what Dean might say to him when they got back to the bunker.    
He drafted his apology, silently, trying to put into words how he’d felt when he had seen the underwear. He didn’t think he’d be able to pass it off as being unaware of human norms. Not this time.

He had clearly affected Dean, and he would have to atone.

But when they got back to the bunker, Dean ran off to his bedroom with a mumbled excuse before Castiel could take him aside.

“What’s got his panties in a knot?” Sam growled as he lugged the heavy bag of gear from the doorway to the table.

Castiel froze mid-step. For a brief second, he forgot how to breathe. (Interestingly, though humans can metaphorically forget how to breathe without suffocating, when an angel forgets how to breathe in his increasingly human body it is potentially fatal) Castiel coughed as his lungs forced him to take in air and Sam turned towards him, brows knit in concern, though Castiel detected a hint of a smile on Sam’s face.

“You okay, Cas?”  
Castiel nodded, still unable to regulate his breathing enough to speak without coughing again.

“Both of you are out of it today -- did I miss something?”

“I, uh. I don’t know, Sam. I think I might have done something wrong.” Castiel looked down at his hands as he shifted his weight from one side to the other, trying to dislodge the knot of anxiety in his stomach.

“Yeah? Would it help to talk to me about it?” Sam sat at the table and tilted his head. Somehow, when Sam tilted his head, he radiated openness, acceptance -- not confusion or judgment.

“I don’t think so. I think this is something I have to talk to Dean about. Privately.”

Sam nodded and suppressed a grin, “Well, I can handle cleaning the guns on my own, Cas. Go on -- kiss and make up.”  
Castiel spluttered again, and this time Sam didn’t even try to hide his smile. “Go get’em, buddy.” At that, Castiel left Sam [humming](http://grooveshark.com/s/L+O+V+E/1kQbJI?src=5) under his breath and laying the various pistols in front of him.

As he walked toward Dean’s room, Castiel rehearsed his apology -- he’d settled on: “Dean, I am sorry. I know that I shouldn’t have taken those underwear, much less worn them. I understand if you are no longer comfortable with me living here, but I hope that you can forgive me for the invasion of your privacy.” He could only hope it would be enough.

Sooner than he hoped, he reached Dean’s door. He took a breath and raised his fist to knock when he heard a moan coming from the other side of the door.

Perhaps Dean had injured himself. Perhaps Castiel had jumped too quickly to the conclusion that Dean had been distracted by him.  If that was the case, then Castiel might not have to explain anything -- he could offer to do laundry again and deposit the underwear without Dean noticing they’d gone missing.

He knocked on the door, relief flooding his body. If Dean was injured, then Castiel should make sure that he was treating himself properly. The hunter had the unfortunate habit of ignoring his own wounds.

There was no response. Only another low moan, this one deeper and harsher. Worry spiked in Castiel’s chest as he turned the knob and stepped through the door.

For the second time that night, Castiel found himself unable to remember how to ensure the continued functioning of the body he inhabited.

Dean was not injured.

Dean was...

Dean was lying on his bed, legs splayed and hands fluttering across his stomach, his chest, his--

His underwear. He was wearing underwear much like the ones Castiel was wearing. The material looked smoother and they were a deep purple, not the bright pink that had attracted Castiel’s eye the night before. He turned around, fully intending to leave Dean to his privacy, but Dean let out another quiet whimper and he couldn’t resist turning once more to face the beautiful man spread out on the bed before him.

Dean’s hands were stroking his skin so lightly that Castiel could almost feel the touch himself. The anxiety in his stomach had dissipated and instead it was the same heat he’d felt the night before, only more intense. Instead of the soft diffusion of arousal set off by the pink underwear, the sight of Dean touching himself, touching his panties, caused a sharp stab of arousal to shoot straight to his groin. He let out a gasp before he could smother the sound and his eyes shot away from Dean’s hands to his face, which was frozen in an oh of surprise.

“Dean,” Castiel began, but nothing else came out. What could he say? I’m sorry? That wasn’t truthful, but he couldn’t say what he really wanted to: Don’t stop. Let me help. Let me touch you.

“Cas! Shit. I, uh, I...” Dean stammered, clearly embarrassed, though he hadn’t moved his hands from the edge of his panties.

“I knocked,” Good. Not a lie. “You didn’t reply. I was,” he reached behind him to shut the door -- this was not something Sam would want to see, “worried.” Castiel knew that he should keep distance between Dean and himself, but his legs seemed to know something that he didn’t and they brought him closer to the bed. “I wanted to see if there was anything I could do for you,” Castiel continued, keeping his eyes on Dean’s face as he took another step towards Dean, “since you seemed out of sorts.”

He’d reached the foot of the bed and his fingertips brushed the comfortor. If he stretched his hand, he could touch Dean’s leg, but he held back. He needed to know that Dean wanted this. Castiel looked at Dean’s hands, still resting above his underwear, above the erection that his hands had encouraged. Dean’s fingers were trembling, and judging by the flush that was spreading from Dean’s face down his chest, it was only partly due to embarrassment. Castiel breathed a sigh of relief as he looked back into the hunter’s green eyes and saw desire.

“Is there?” Castiel asked.

Although he’d spoken quietly, the whisper was enough to remind Dean that he was mostly naked, caught in the act of self-pleasure. Castiel could see his muscles tense as he prepared to move, as he prepared to hide himself, as though what he was doing was shameful.   
Castiel couldn’t let Dean hide himself. Even if Dean didn’t want Castiel to be a part of what he was doing, he couldn’t let Dean think that this was something he had to lock away.

Although Castiel wanted Dean’s permission before he touched him, he couldn’t think of another way to stop Dean’s frantic response. He reached out with his fingers and rested them lightly on Dean’s thigh. He hoped it sent the right message: Slow down. Breathe. It was intimate, yes, but he needed to bring Dean back from his panic before he made it clear that his desires veered into the sexual.

Dean stilled and his breathing slowed. He wasn’t panicked anymore, but he was still confused. Unsure. He had to be sure.

“Is there anything I can do for you,” Castiel let his fingers brush against Dean’s leg, “Dean?”

Dean let out a shaky breath at Castiel’s question (or at his touch?) and Castiel let him take in the situation, trying to radiate openness, trust, desire, love. He could feel the weight of Dean’s gaze as it took in Castiel’s fingers on his thigh, still moving slowly over the skin. He felt heat rise in his cheeks, painting his chest as Dean’s eyes traveled to his face. They locked eyes for a moment, but Dean was not done his inspection. As if he wasn’t sure what he would find, Dean dragged his eyes down Castiel’s chest, sending shivers up his spine, and settled on Castiel’s crotch.

He was positive that Dean could see the evidence of his desire, at least. He might not be able to see all the other feeling that resonated throughout Castiel’s body, but he could see that he was interested, at the very least.

“Yes.”

For a moment, Castiel thought he’d imagined it, but he had seen the man’s lips move, had practically felt the breath of air ghost across his own skin. Yes.

Cas felt full, whole, right and he took another step, dragging his fingers up Dean’s leg. He stopped when he reached the edge of the lace and he touched the material, comparing it to the memory of the night before. This lace was thicker, heavier. Cas shivered when the lace scratched against the pad of his thumb and he tucked his fingers underneath in order to hold the underwear between his fingers. He lost himself in the sensation of Dean’s skin underneath his fingers, of the lace against his own skin. Cas didn’t know how long he stood there, stroking the material between his finger and thumb when Dean spoke again.

“Take off your pants, Cas.”

Cas brought his eyes to meet Dean’s, wanting confirmation that Dean was actually asking this of him. Dean wanted to see him.

“Please, Cas. I want to see.”

He wondered if taking away the contact might jolt Dean out of the moment, but he couldn’t deny Dean anything at this point, as much as it pained him to take his hand away. He stayed standing next to the bed, though, unwilling to move any further away from Dean. Cas unbuckled his belt and popped the button of his jeans. He paused for a brief moment of panic when he realized that he wouldn’t be able to hide his theft from Dean, but the look in Dean’s eyes was so hungry.

His cock throbbed as he stepped out of his pants and stood up to let Dean see him. He waited. He was willing to wait as long as it took for Dean to process the sight of Cas in those pink panties, but Dean didn’t appear surprised, just aroused. Cas’s cock was harder than it had been the night before and he wanted to touch, to rub, to press his cock against Dean’s skin, but he waited.

He would do what Dean asked.

As he stood there motionless, Dean let out a strangled moan and shut his eyes as he grabbed himself roughly.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean said before taking a deep breath, “Your shirt. Take it off.”

Keeping his eyes on Dean, watching his chest rise and fall, watching the muscles of his arms twitch, watching his eyes widen and his irises darken, Cas took his shirt off. He would later admit to showing off, moving more than was absolutely necessary, but he wanted to hear Dean’s breath of surprise, wanted to feel the stretch of his muscles.

He managed to stop his hand before it landed on his cock, but it was a close thing. He ached for pressure, for sensation.

This time, it didn’t take as long for Dean’s next request.

“Like this,” Dean whispered before letting out a soft moan at the touch of his hand.

Cas felt his heartbeat quicken at the sight, a sight he had only imagined before. Dean began to stroke his hard cock and Cas matched his actions. He groaned at the slow, gentle pace that Dean set. Cas wanted to grasp, wanted to squeeze, wanted to press himself against the hunter and rut, but Dean continued moving his hand up and down. Cas thought he might die. Dean squeezed himself gently, and Cas copied the action, grateful to be able to give himself the pressure he sought. He shuddered and tried to stay standing, but his knees gave out. He leaned onto the bed, placing a hand firmly on Dean’s leg for balance and he felt Dean’s leg twitch in response.

“Cas. Sit next to me,” Dean barely got the words out -- they came out more like a groan than a command, but Cas obeyed, nonetheless.

After some slightly awkward fumbling, the two men found themselves sitting next to each other, leaning against the headboard. Cas could feel the heat of Dean’s body, and his skin tingled where their bodies met. He’d been close to Dean before, but he couldn’t remember being able to sense every movement, every breath so clearly. He didn’t need to look at Dean to know when Dean started stroking himself again.

When Cas sensed that Dean had paused to squeeze himself through his panties, Cas did the same. When Cas felt Dean speed up or slow down, Cas followed. Dean remained silent, but Cas couldn’t stop the noises from falling out of his mouth. He hadn’t known that he could make those sounds -- hadn’t known how good it felt to hear them. Hadn’t known how much he wanted to hear them from Dean.

Dean must have felt the same, because he reached over and tugged at Cas’s panties, letting them go so that the elastic snapped against Cas’s skin. The sensation was so surprising, so unexpectedly pleasing, that Cas let out a long, low moan -- partly in pleasure, and partly in disappointment that the feeling had ended so quickly. Dean replaced his fingers under the elastic and rubbed small circles into Cas’s hip. This time, Cas’s moan was pleased, contented.

Dean quickened their pace. Cas felt a swell of pride knowing that his voice had caused Dean’s increased fervour. He experimented by deliberately moaning Dean’s name and was rewarded by a soft grunt of surprise and a brief squeeze.

“Cas,” Dean whispered, his voice sounding closer to Cas than he’d expected. Cas looked towards Dean, surprised to see his face right in front of his own. “Kiss me?”  
He could see the surprise, the vulnerability, the doubt in Dean’s eyes and he knew. He knew that Dean felt the same. He wasn’t an angel anymore, but he still knew Dean better than anyone. He knew that Dean loved him, would love him always, and this knowledge spread warmth through his body.

Cas smiled. It was a small, quiet smile, and he’d never been happier. He closed the gap between them and kissed Dean for the first time. He stopped moving -- he wanted to remember this moment, to catalogue every sensation, every flavour. He released Dean from the kiss and breathed in the smell of Dean’s sweat, arousal, contentment. Cas rested his head on the hunter’s shoulder, happy to lean against Dean’s body, to feel Dean’s heartbeat along with his own.

Before long, Cas felt a tightening in his belly, felt a heat in his body that he knew he wouldn’t be able to ignore. “Dean,” he whispered, “Please, Dean. Please.”

“Yeah, Cas, touch yourself. For me, Cas.” Dean moaned as Cas dipped his hand underneath the elastic of his underwear and grasped his cock. Cas could feel Dean shifting, could feel the muscles of his arm, of his torso tense as he did the same.

He watched as Dean stroked and squeezed himself faster and harder, keeping pace and whimpering each time his fist brushed against the head of his cock.

“Fuck,” Dean’s fist was tight around his cock, and Cas felt his lips press against Cas’s temple, “Cas, you’re so fucking sexy. Come for me.”  
Cas had been waiting for this order -- he hadn’t known he’d been waiting, but when he heard it, in Dean’s gruff voice, feeling the breath against his temple, against his ear, Cas obeyed. He stroked himself through his orgasm, enjoying the sensation of his come landing on his stomach, imagining it were Dean’s instead. He slowed his pace, noticing only then that Dean had come as well. He was sorry he’d missed seeing it.

Cas felt Dean shift, heard the small grunt when Dean removed his hand from under his panties. Cas did the same and began to move away. He knew that he wanted to clean himself off, and thought he might enjoy doing the same to Dean, given that he’d missed seeing the mess being made. At least he’d get to clean it up.

But as he shifted to the edge of the bed, he felt Dean tense. He turned to look at Dean’s face, which was a mixture of panic, shame, worry. Cas felt heaviness in his heart when he realized that Dean was afraid he was leaving. How many people had left Dean this way? How many times had Dean shared himself, only to watch the other person walk away? Cas hadn’t thought he could love Dean more, but knowing that Dean was so frightened, so hurt, but still gave himself to Cas...

Cas leaned into Dean’s space and kissed him gently. He felt the tension in Dean’s body melt away, felt it in his lips, felt it as Dean brushed his tongue across Cas’s lip. Cas brought his hand up to Dean’s face and moaned when he felt Dean suck at his lower lip. The hunter tugged at his lip and pressed it gently between his teeth. Cas shivered -- only partly from the cold -- and smiled.

“Dean,” Cas said, without moving away from Dean’s lips, “Dean, I’m not going anywhere.”

He leaned back, happy to see none of the panic or fear on Dean’s face. He reached behind him to grab his shirt and wiped himself clean. He wished he had a warm cloth, but he didn’t want to leave Dean’s side.

“I’m here,” he said as he cleaned Dean’s stomach, then ducked under Dean’s arm and wrapped his own around Dean’s waist. “I’m always here.”

He could feel Dean shudder, could sense his relief.

“Cas,” Dean’s voice was strangled, tight in his throat, and Cas didn’t want to push Dean, to make him feel like he needed to speak.

“I know.”

***

They fell asleep that way, waking only briefly to burrow under the covers. When they woke the next morning, they were tangled in each other’s limbs, breathing in each other’s scents.

“Good morning, baby,” Dean’s voice was rough with sleep, “How’d you sleep?”  
“Better than I have in a long time.”

Cas felt Dean dip his head into the crook of Cas’s shoulder. He felt the press of Dean’s lips, felt them stretch into a smile.

“We’re doing this again, right?” Dean’s tone was light, but the question was sincere.

“Yes. We’re doing this until you get tired of me, Dean.”

“Never.”

**Author's Note:**

> This concludes this particular trilogy, but I'm not quite done with this universe just yet. I've got some ideas floating around! (And everyone loves a kink!verse, right??)


End file.
